The Real Thing
by dumpling47
Summary: One-shot. After seeing the new Star Trek movie, John's decided he fancies the film's mysterious villain. But why does this bother Sherlock so much? Sort-of crack, with some bonus Johnlock cuteness.


_**The new Star Trek movie ... wow. Don't worry, I won't spoil it, but ... Benedict. Unf. He never ceases to amaze me.**_

_**Anyway, this fic was inspired by the fact that the actor himself went up FOUR WHOLE FREAKING SUIT SIZES in a month and a half to prepare for his role in the film. And now he's all thin again for Series Three of Sherlock. It's amazing, the things he's willing to do with his body for a part (that was not a double entendre ... okay, maybe it was ...).**_

_**So, um, yeah. Enjoy! And go see Star Trek if you haven't already. Seriously.**_

* * *

"Wow ... just wow. That actor's really something, isn't he?" John watched as the credits rolled. "Benedict Cumberbatch ... hmm ..."

Sherlock sighed heavily. He and John had just been to see the new Star Trek movie. He'd never actually admit it, but he'd quite enjoyed the film. Only problem now was, John wanted to stay for everything, even the credits.

"He was good, I suppose," Sherlock murmured. He didn't know much about actors, but he acted often while on cases, so he could appreciate this Crumblepatch's abilities. Or whatever his name was.

"Besides that, he's positively gorgeous," John said, turning to Sherlock and smiling devilishly.

Sherlock was rather taken aback. Fiercely loyal John, attracted to another man? It didn't matter that the guy was an actor; suddenly, Sherlock was desperate to remember everything about him.

"He's pretty muscular, I gotta say," John continued. "Imagine getting a hug from him. It'd be so nice and warm ..."

Sherlock, half-jealous and half-interested, began taking mental notes. So, John wanted the stocky type, did he? Since when? Oh, well - it didn't matter. John wanted muscular, and Sherlock was ... well, not exactly that.

Suddenly, Sherlock was far-too-aware of how thin and gaunt he was. He'd never been particularly broad, even when he was younger, but he knew he had a decent body shape and decided to go from there. If anything, he could probably exercise a little more, maybe eat every so often ... and there he'd have it. He'd look just like the Star Trek villain, causing John to love him all the more.

... Or something like that.

* * *

"Where are you going?" John asked the next morning.

Sherlock swept his long coat over his workout attire, so that John wouldn't see. He wanted John to be surprised the next time they had sex, when he'd finally be able to undress for him - to show off his new body.

"Out," Sherlock answered.

John shrugged, giving Sherlock a once-over. "Are you ... wearing trainers?" he asked, surprised.

"Sewer work," Sherlock said quickly. "Don't want to get the standard shoes dirty."

"I, well - I didn't even realize you owned a pair," John said with a laugh. "You've gone and surprised me again."

Sherlock nodded absently, ducking out of the room as soon as possible.

* * *

The gym had been awful. He'd purposely gone early so that he could work out by himself, and just as he'd planned, nobody had been there. He'd started by lifting weights, and found that while he was strong, he wasn't used to that kind of thing, especially since he wasn't eating enough to compensate for what he was burning. After the workout, he took a hot shower and returned to 221B, sure that John wouldn't suspect a thing.

He reached the kitchen, however, and found himself ridiculously hungry. Food helped build muscle, too, so he eventually decided to eat a little. No, scratch that ... a lot.

He was in the process of eating nearly half his weight when John entered the room.

"You're just full of surprises today, aren't you?" he said, pecking Sherlock on the cheek. "First it's the trainers, now it's the food. How were the sewers, anyway?"

"Oh! Er, good," Sherlock said quickly, wrapping his coat tightly about his frame. "I'm closer to finding Herjavec's killer than ever."

"That's really good," John said, looking his friend up and down. Sherlock wondered if he suspected anything.

"Your trainers aren't that dirty, are they?" John said, a suspicious edge to his voice.

"No, I suppose not," Sherlock said, shrugging.

"Hmm." John left the room, not questioning it any further.

_Damn it!_ Sherlock thought. _I should've gotten them dirty. I _knew_ I was forgetting something!_

* * *

The workout routine continued for about a month. Sherlock was surprised at how fast he was building muscle - he'd had to order a new set of suits, two whole sizes larger - edging on three. There'd been a particular incident at breakfast where the buttons on one of his shirts had completely given out, much to his embarrassment. He'd had the gratification, however, of John touching his newly-broad chest and commenting on how fit he'd become.

"Big, strong Sherlock," John had practically cooed. "Must be all those cases, huh?"

"What else would it be?" Sherlock murmured, not expecting an answer.

"It's okay, Sherlock," John said, ruffling his curls. "I know all about the exercise routine."

"I - what?" Sherlock gasped. How did he -?

"Oh, I didn't ask Mycroft to put his cameras on you or anything," John said with a grin. "I deduced. It was, as you're so fond of saying, 'hardly a difficult leap'."

"I wanted you to love me like you love Crumblebatch," Sherlock said, his voice an odd mixture of flat and shy.

"Uh, what did you say?" John asked, looking baffled.

"Remember about a month ago? The Star Trek movie? You were talking about how nice and fit that actor was, and I - well, I thought maybe you wanted someone like that. Not someone gaunt and skinny like me."

Realization suddenly dawned on John's face. "Oh ... _Cumberbatch_, you mean?" he said, laughing.

Sherlock went an uncharacteristic shade of scarlet. "I wanted to look like him so that you'd, well -"

John stopped laughing, realizing that Sherlock was actually embarrassed. "So you started working out ... for me?"

"Yes ..."

"Oh, Sherlock." John took his lover's face in his hands. "Do you know why I said I liked that Cumberbatch fellow so much?"

"Because of his physique?"

"Because he looks like _you_."

"What?"

"Spitting image - couldn't you tell? Jesus, Sherlock, you really are daft sometimes. The cheekbones, the lips, the hair - the only difference I could really see was that he had a bit more meat on his bones."

"So I - well -"

"You look good either way," John insisted. "But honestly, I don't think I would want you to look exactly like him. I mean, you can look any way you want, but I do think you look nice thin. You're so ... pretty that way."

"_'Pretty'?_" Sherlock asked, disgusted.

"I mean it in the best possible way," John said, placing his hands on Sherlock's still-slender waist. "But like I said, I would think you looked lovely no matter what. I must express some concern, though," he said, "About your precious shirts. And suits, for that matter. They're awfully expensive, and if you keep going up in sizes, we may just go bankrupt."

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter. "I don't know if I much like weightlifting every morning, anyway."

"It's not like you have a starship to take over, so you really don't have to get all bulky if you don't want to." John tapped his chin. "Though I _am_ glad you're eating, I'll say that much."

Sherlock snorted. His face slackened a bit, though, and he looked worried again. "So I don't have to look like Crumpetpatch, then?"

"Cumberbatch," John said, rolling his eyes. "And no, of course not. He was a passing fancy. You're the real thing."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist, leaning in for a kiss. It was warm and passionate and practically perfect. The only thing that would've made it better was if his shirt wasn't halfway destroyed.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is," John said, coming up for air, "That I like you just the way you are. Your normal self, whatever that may be."

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, burying his head in the crook of John's neck and inhaling deeply. He was glad he didn't have to work out anymore. It seemed rather a waste of time, especially when there were cases to solve and army doctors to love.

_Especially_ when there were army doctors to love.


End file.
